Moving in Circles
by Emerald Embers
Summary: Crowley's life in Sodom was going quite nicely until Aziraphale's cousins visited. Gen.


One day, Crowley theorised - being rather fond of theorising while tipsy - he would finally work out why he kept the angel around. Aside from the obvious benefit of not being threatened with a good smiting every few weeks, it was hard to think of any other plus points to their arrangement as it stood.

Admittedly the major part of his current disgruntled state was no fault of the angel's - just his coworkers, pious pains in the arse that they were - but he figured he had the right to take out some of his anger on a less generalised target.

Bless it all.

.

Crowley had been enjoying a particularly lazy afternoon drinking particularly wonderful wine while curled up against a particularly beautiful girl. Soft breasts and a softer stomach made for a _very_ comfortable pillow, so it was safe to say 'disgruntled' didn't quite cover his feelings on the sudden shift in mood when Aziraphale, lacking the physicality or emotional aggression required for barging, fluttered into the building while flapping his hands with anxiety. "My cousins are visiting," Aziraphale said, and Crowley nodded sleepily, resumed relaxing against his not-so-maidenly maid.

"That's nice."

"Crowley, _my_ cousins are visiting," Aziraphale replied with an accompanying raise of eyebrows.

Crowley didn't quite pale, but any lingering serpentine desire to bask in warmth and ignorance for the remainder of the day disappeared as he tensed up and snapped to attention.

Everyone else in the room seemed to feel a similar sudden urgency, all grouping up and heading off to wherever suited them best. Admittedly this still left Thomas passed out in the corner, but given Thomas' tendency towards drinking himself paralytic and regularly forgetting his own name, he wasn't too much of a concern.

Aziraphale's visiting comrades in smitey-smitey arms on the other hand? Were.

"Where, when, and why?"

"Here, tomorrow night, and I have no idea. Unless -" Aziraphale looked away, thoughtful for a moment. "No, I honestly have no idea. Abraham talked them down to ten righteous men -"

Crowley straightened and cleared his throat. "Angel, slow down. Abraham talked who down to ten righteous men and why?"

"Oh. Right. Originally the city was going to be destroyed if, er, I think it was fifty righteous men could not be found? I didn't quite keep track. But he suggested the city be spared if ten righteous men could be found, so we need to -"

"_Slow down_," Crowley repeated, the angel's circular speech patterns and evident worry not exactly helping his own mood any. "Your comrades are going to destroy the city unless ten righteous men can be found?"

"Er. Yes."

Crowley thought long and hard for a moment. "Oh."

"I'm sorry my dear, but who else in the city could I talk to about the possibility of it ending up smote without causing panic or getting pelted by rocks?"

"I'm fairly panicked," Crowley said.

"Then you handle your panic admirably well," Aziraphale replied. "Do you think you could, er, help? Point out anyone you haven't -" The angel made an intriguing gesture that Crowley supposed was somehow meant to convey 'turned evil' without actually using the words.

"I'm a bad influence but I don't change people's choices," Crowley said, feeling a little defensive but willing to give the angel the benefit of the doubt for now; he likely hadn't intended to come across as though he was accusing Crowley of being thoroughly unsavoury. Even if Crowley was.

Aziraphale folded his arms, looking equally defensive. "If we don't find ten righteous men by tomorrow night we'll have to pack up and leave before the city is wiped out. Will you help me or not?"

Ceasing to fight the angel was one thing, but actually helping the angel was something else altogether; though that said, if Sodom did get destroyed, he wouldn't be able to sit around pretending the debauchery and aggressive xenophobia was all his own hard work. He'd have to actually make an effort tempting people for his reports back to Hell. Lesser of two evils, he supposed.

Thomas stirred before Crowley could give the angel an answer, climbing unsteadily to his feet and asking the wall, "What are you looking at?" before swinging for it and missing.

Crowley opted not to catch him. "I'll bite."

Aziraphale opted not to catch him either. Crowley did sometimes wonder what sort of influence he was having on the angel.

.

So; ten righteous men in Sodom. Lot and his girls; that made up about four, given the in-laws were mostly smug pricks. At least, Crowley hoped that made up four; Abraham hadn't been quite ballsy enough to ask if 'men' was gender-ambiguous in this case or not, but that said, talking God's lot down from fifty to ten took some doing so it wasn't as if he had any right to criticise the guy.

Six to go, and a day in which to find them. Wouldn't have been much of a task in any other city.

Problem was, of course, that Sodom wasn't just any other city; and walking around with the angel, trying to pick out someone he hadn't either tempted himself or watched give in to temptation was an exercise in sheer discomfort.

"Peter?"

"Thief."

"Mary?"

"Thief."

"Simon?"

"He's just a bit of a bastard in general."

"Aaron?"

"Adulterer."

"Sarah?"

"Adulterer with Aaron." Crowley had grinned at that one despite himself, found the angel's gaze fixed on him with a not-quite-glare in response. "What? Oh - come on, she married John because her dad wanted her to. They've been giving each other looks for _years_, I was doing them a favour."

"It's still adultery, Crowley!"

"I don't see anything wrong with it as long as they don't get caught by anyone who cares. John wouldn't be getting an heir without the outside help anyway." Crowley shrugged. "Wasn't even an effort, that one. They wanted to and I'm pretty sure John's not looking on purpose."

"But John loves Sarah," Aziraphale protested. "Surely he wouldn't -"

Crowley held the angel's gaze deliberately. "Exactly. He's not losing anything he had before she started going for it with Aaron and she's happy. Everybody wins."

"Well, what about John -"

"Blasphemy."

Aziraphale sighed and folded his arms. "Honestly Crowley -"

"That one wasn't me," Crowley said. "Blasphemy usually isn't. Unless it's really, really creative blasphemy. It's easy but boring."

Aziraphale looked pensive for a moment. "You've given that thought before."

"It's a results to effort thing. I'm not going to spend five weeks getting someone to commit murder if I can get two people who want to have sex to actually have sex with five minutes of nudging them in the right direction." Aziraphale still radiated disapproval. "Don't tell me you don't have something like that for virtues."

"Getting people to be nice to each other is much more... generalised," Aziraphale replied, tone a little wary. "Virtue comes in many forms."

"Exactly. You're not going to spend a month persuading someone to give all their money to charity before devoting the rest of their lives to being spectacularly nice if you can spend two minutes suggesting to someone they fix their neighbour's roof for free." Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth a few times without saying anything, looking particularly frustrated, and Crowley smirked at the realisation Aziraphale likely couldn't think of a decent argument in response. "Told you so."

"Fine," Aziraphale replied. "If you're going to be snippy I'll do without your help. Besides, we've covered less than a quarter of the city and we've found four people already, and I for one think that bodes well for the rest of the place."

"Four people from the same household," Crowley pointed out.

"Yes, and his cousin Benjamin -"

"Runs a brothel, but good luck," Crowley announced before separating off from the angel to get some rest, and gladly; the fact he was splitting off from Aziraphale just before they reached the city center was something of a relief given he knew that around the outer stretches of Sodom people were generally just selfish and happily secular, but towards the city center, people tended to get a little more enthusiastically violent about their sinning. When the city first descended from hurling stones at visiting strangers to actually lynching them, Crowley had himself given up on Sodom, but not before making a few notes so he could claim responsibility in his next report.

.

Sleeping in until the afternoon was well on its way was an indulgence Crowley knew he probably shouldn't have allowed himself but he'd owned that bed for a good long while now; it was a good, comfortable bed, and it deserved a proper last use, not some three-hour nap, regardless of sleep being entirely optional in the first place.

Truth be told, it wasn't that Crowley was attempting to save the place because he _liked_ Sodom, or any of its inhabitants. He couldn't even honestly say he particularly liked the little household he'd set up for himself, as much as he was very fond of the makeshift wine cellar. It was just the _idea_ of having a home that he liked; the idea of owning furniture and bric-a-brac, things he didn't technically need but liked possessing. The idea of fixing things when they ceased to work by taking them to people who had trained in carpentry or smithing, or whatever other skills happened to be both useful and marketable, when he could have just as easily miracled them back into working.

Crowley liked owning things and he felt entirely secure in his right to be pissy if Aziraphale's colleagues had opted to pass judgment when he'd been feeling relatively settled down for once.

.

He felt more than a little dirty for trying something so underhanded, but given the ratio of debatable (and not so debatable) sinners to truly pious and righteous men and women in Sodom tending towards "1", Crowley figured there was no point resisting the urge to nudge people in a better direction. It didn't take, of course - people were simply too used to receiving rewards for their good deeds, and charity wasn't in the nature of the average citizen of Sodom - but it was worth a try. Crowley had never taken to giving up, and as much as he was still pissed off at Aziraphale for being just as snippy back at him as he'd allegedly been towards the angel, it didn't mean he wanted to end their partnership on a bad turn. And if he encouraged a few people to do favours for their friends and family along his walk to the angel's home, well, it wasn't as if there was anything devastating in making people do good deeds on what they weren't aware was their last day on Earth.

.

"Aziraphale?"

Crowley had to admit, there was something a little eerie about walking into Aziraphale's house and finding it empty - completely empty, scrolls and all - save for a few bags here and there, and a slightly pathetic-looking snake curled up in the shade. He knew the bags thing meant Aziraphale was likely to return, but it was still strange seeing the angel's home look unused; he was used to it being just as packed with odds and ends he didn't need as his own house, and the idea of the angel moving out was weirdly discomforting.

Crowley scratched the back of his neck before walking over to the snake and picking it up, ignoring its sore-tempered nip at his wrist as he carried it outside. "Go regulate your temperature somewhere else," he said, drumming his fingers against the doorframe before realising he was essentially mooching around the angel's house for no good reason, and it was the sort of behaviour he really, really shouldn't be encouraging in himself.

Nice, though, of Aziraphale to pack up without even telling him. Not that he had any real right to tell the angel what to do about the forthcoming destruction of what had been a home to both of them for several years now, but he still felt a little disgruntled. Aziraphale had been - and given the angel was still technically his enemy, not to mention a fussy, prissy pain in the arse, he was loathe to admit it - a friend. Crowley's best friend on Earth, actually, which was horrifically depressing. He'd hoped he'd get at least one more evening's good drinking out of Aziraphale, but apparently whatever sulk Aziraphale had pulled last night meant they weren't on speaking terms for the moment. And what a bloody awful moment to pick, too.

So much for helping out the angel.

.

Night, as inevitably as usual unless He got involved in a major way, fell. Crowley didn't particularly need to watch to work out what was going on, anymore than he needed to listen to the growing anger of Sodom's still-awake inhabitants; leftovers from his serpentine days meant he had a somewhat overdeveloped sense of smell and the tension in the air was really quite pungent. It didn't take a genius to work out this was never going to end well; Sodom's inhabitants didn't take too well to regular visitors, so having two angels turn up on the doorstep was an open invitation for trouble.

Lot, to his credit, was as welcoming as usual, but this wasn't going to fix things any; and as Crowley saw and heard and smelled the crowd growing outside Lot's house, he figured there was no point continuing with the pretense of good manners.

In between wishing humanity would get on with discovering the properties of maize when held over a hot surface so he'd have something to eat as well as drink, Crowley set down his cup, and started swigging directly from the jug as he watched the disaster unfold.

.

Not too long afterwords Crowley woke up from a surprisingly pleasant daze to find the angel kneeling in front of him, several bags slung over his shoulders, undoing the knot tying Crowley to the foot of his bed. "Huh - hey! Wait, what are you doing?"

"I could ask the same thing," Aziraphale replied, finishing with the knot, and Crowley frowned in concentration before remembering.

"I'm not leaving. I like this place, and they can take - they - uh - this is my place, and I'm not leaving."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.

"Shut up, angel. I am staying here and there is nothing you can do about it. I will go down with this city."

Aziraphale folded his arms. "Really my dear, don't you think that's a little overdramatic?"

"I'm making a ssstand," Crowley hissed.

"More of a sit from what I can see." Crowley rolled his eyes before jolting to attention and glaring when dry fingers closed around his chin. "Are you drunk?"

"Maybe," Crowley replied, swiftly realising it probably wasn't the smoothest of answers. "That had no part in my decision. Your friends are bastards."

"Oh for -" Aziraphale sighed, let go. "Honestly. They are destroying the city because it is rife with sin and degradation. Do you think they'll stop on your account?"

Crowley found himself overly tempted to rise to the angel's bait, so he chewed on the inside of his cheek to preoccupy himself with something other than speech.

"If you don't snap out of this silly mood soon then there'll be no room at the inn by the time we reach Zoar."

"Why do you even care?" Crowley snapped, wincing at how the words came out. "Not that it - oh for - I don't care. I don't care about why you care. I don't know why I asked. You're a silly angel and you should go flutter off and leave me to be drunk and pissed off at you."

Aziraphale was quiet for a long moment before snorting with laughter, and Crowley felt most put out. Bloody angels. "Well, for one, it would be terribly boring without you," Aziraphale admitted. "And for another, I've seen what happens to demons when they burn in holy fire. Remember Ilkael?"

Crowley had to admit, he didn't.

"Tried sneaking up on Michael during the Fall?"

Oh, _that_ Ilkael. Yeah, that had been - that had been really unpleasant. "That's what would happen, huh?"

"Yes."

Crowley let out a puff of breath. Making a point was all well and good, but if no one save the angel was likely to pay attention to it anyway and the end result was going to be anywhere near as unpleasant as when Ilkael burned up in holy fire then - yeah, probably not really worth the effort. Still annoyed at the forthcoming loss of one of his favourite cities but not to the point where suicide seemed the most viable option anymore, Crowley made to stand; flopped back down as if his legs were boneless the instant he tried. "Oh."

"You can't walk?" Aziraphale said, voice raising just a little in something close to - but not quite - anger. "How much did you drink?"

"I was planning on dying," Crowley snapped back. "Besides, s'entirely possible my legs are drunker than I am."

"Sober yourself up then," Aziraphale said.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Angel, the one thing stopping your friends destroying this city right now is a little old man who moves with all the speed and grace of a sssnail. I could do without _attracting_ their attention."

"Oh, right," Aziraphale replied, having the good grace to look at least a little bashful as he sized up both Crowley and the bags he was already wearing. "I don't believe I can carry both you and my scrolls."

"Well great," Crowley snapped. "How am I supposed to get out of here on time then?"

Aziraphale chewed his bottom lip for a moment, looking thoughtful.

.

If the end result was an angel inventing the ball-barrow several centuries too early and thus carrying a demon to safety, well, it wasn't as if anyone noticed.

And if they had, no one would have believed them anyway.

.

It had to be said; from Zoar, there was something almost pretty about the rain of fire lighting up the night sky. If it weren't for the whole burning a city alive issue, it might even have been outright enjoyable.

Crowley folded his arms and legs, wrapped up inside himself in a slightly too flexible manner for most humans, sulking about the loss of what had been a damned nice humble abode for several decades; shrugged off the angel's hand when it landed on his shoulder in what was probably meant to be a comforting manner, but just came off as annoying.

"We did try," Aziraphale said. "Seven out of ten isn't something to be ashamed of," Crowley uncurled just a little but decided against nodding in full-on agreement.

"Seven?"

"Sarah's sister, the other Mary. And her sons."

"Nice, just in time for them to burn."

"Not really," Aziraphale admitted, looking shifty. "I told her a plague was coming and she ought to leave. She always was something of a hypochondriac."

Crowley smirked despite himself for a second; little white lies from a celestial? Really?

"But we found seven, and that was on short notice. I think we could stop them next time."

Crowley turned and looked up at the angel. "Why would you want to? Your side's in charge of the smiting after all."

Aziraphale didn't quite smile, but there was something in the angel's eyes Crowley didn't entirely trust. "I suppose I've grown out of the habit."

"Could've told you that when you gave up the sword," Crowley replied before uncurling so he could lie down, the floor beneath him far from the most luxurious of beds, but welcome nonetheless. "Any chance of your friends heading over here?"

"They would not notice you," Aziraphale said.

Wasn't much of an answer, really, but Crowley still felt strangely comforted when the angel lay down on the floor across from him. He'd have to fix that at some point; wouldn't do to be actively keeping an angel company. And if any of his fellow demons happened to find out he had any sort of arrangement with a celestial who was still, well, celestial, then they'd never let him live it down.

But it wasn't as if he didn't have a few centuries left in which to break the habit.

.

The End


End file.
